


Perfect

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby Mycroft Holmes, Eating Disorders, Fantasy, M/M, Young Mycroft, nice then painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 21:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Mycroft looks in the mirror and sees everything he could want in life.Then he opens his eyes and sees reality.





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Personal fic.

Mycroft stood there in his suit, looking at himself in the mirror. He admired his sleek form and how the suit accentuated his slim waist. The charcoal-slate waistcoat was perfect against the crisp powder blue of his shirt, and his silver pocket watch matched just right.

Behind him, his partner approached and snuck his hands around his middle. Gregory was stunningly handsome; dark hair going silver, warm and kind eyes, a strong jaw to go with his muscled frame, and a smile that lit up the room. He pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s cheek, mumbling ‘handsome’ before nuzzling into his neck.

Mycroft hummed happily. Everything was perfect. He was not only loved, but utterly adored by the most wonderful man to whom his heart belonged entirely. He looked elegant, he had an important job, he didn’t have to spare a thought to his parents anymore, and he earnt enough to want for nothing – with the man holding him close, how could he want anything more?

“I love you,” Greg whispered to him. “My handsome man.”  
“I love you too, dearest,” Mycroft responded, leaning his head back against his love’s.  
“You look so good in your suits. Makes me want to take them off you.”  
Mycroft chuckled. “Maybe when I’m home. It would be a shame to force my staff to avert their eyes for this meeting.”  
“And they bloody well should. The beauty underneath is _mine_.”

Mycroft chuckled again. He did so love how possessive Gregory could be. He felt wanted, and needed. He held onto the hands still holding his middle. “How is it I’m so lucky?” he asked dreamily.  
“Because you deserve it,” Greg answered. “I’m lucky to have you.”

He squeezed Greg’s hands. “Would you like me to cook you curry for dinner?”  
“I thought we could go out.”  
“You always say that.”  
“Yeah, well, can you blame me wanting to show you off?”

Greg kissed him again. “We’re in our twenties. It’s the time to do things like be out and having fun.”  
“You’re just saying that because you’re almost thirty.”  
“That wasn’t a dismissal I heard.”  
Mycroft laughed. “No, it wasn’t my love. Sure; we’ll go out and have dinner and then be ‘out having fun’ before we come inside to ‘have fun’.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now, you should get your perfect arse to work. Unlike me, it actually matters to a whole lot of people if you are there or not.”  
“It matters greatly if you show up, darling,” Mycroft reminded. “What you do matters too. But you are right; time to go. Life to be getting on with.”

Mycroft smiled, noting how Gregory hadn’t released his hold – instead, he continued to stroke up and down Mycroft’s flat chest and belly. Greg then looked directly at his eyes in the mirror, showing just how much adoration he felt. It melted him inside, and let that be known in his gaze back. He reached out and touched the mirror. Yes; it was perfect.

* * *

Mycroft opened his eyes. He looked at where he was touching the mirror, and then up to meet his own gaze. He saw them glisten with unshed tears. He retracted his hand slowly.

He sighed.

He closed his eyes again as he turned his head away in shame, unable to look at the reflection anymore. The pudgy cheeks, the bulging stomach, the large limbs… all constrained in ill-fitting casual clothes. He didn’t want to see it anymore.

The room was quiet. Not a breath or a footstep heard inside the walls; outside, the traffic rushed by oblivious to the turmoil he was feeling.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. Alone. He sunk to his knees. He was always going to be alone. His fantasy would remain just that. No one would want him like this.

Mycroft knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist the little comfort that got him through the day in the form of chocolate or ice cream. It didn’t matter if he kept trying to undo the damage done each time, regardless of the pain he caused to his throat – the point was that he failed to control himself in the first place, and that was why he was greeted with such a sight every time he walked by the mirror.

The blasted mirror. He’d get rid of it, except it was only doing its job. It wasn’t the mirror’s fault it showed the truth, and it wouldn’t stop the rest of the world from seeing it either.

Sure, he had his mind. People told him that. But was it so wrong to want someone to like him not in spite of his body? To actually have someone _love_ how he looked? To be cared for not for just what he could do? People tended to just see him as the extent of his work and he was tired of it. He might as well just be some ugly huge piece of machinery people used. Not considered valuable, or important, but just… there, provided it didn’t need to be looked at.

The tears fell freely. He hugged himself. He didn’t cope well being alone. If only he could have that perfect fantasy life.


End file.
